


At the Inn

by sumhowe_sailing



Category: Sumhowe
Genre: First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sumhowe_sailing/pseuds/sumhowe_sailing
Summary: Sam and Charles are drunk and have to share a bed.





	1. A Night at the Inn

The night had begun like so many others with Sam and Charles seated beside each other in a carriage, careening down the country roads without a care. But then the clouds that had been building and darkening broke open and the rain came so thick and fast they could no longer see where they were going.  They turned and began heading back to Boston as quickly as they could; it wasn’t fast enough. The downpour had turned the road into a treacherous mess and before they knew what was happening, the carriage wheels were stuck fast and the horses’ efforts to pull nearly turned the vehicle on its side. Cursing the horses, the weather, and the state of the roads, Sam climbed out to see if he could free the wheels and set them on their way.

“It won’t do,” Sam gasped a few minutes later, already soaked through, “We’re going to have to find help.”

“If I recall correctly, there was an inn some short way back?”

They agreed to unhitch the horses and search out the way house they had passed not too long before. It turned out to be almost a mile—a very cold, miserable mile. Once they saw the horses stabled, Sam began making inquiries for help retrieving their carriage while Charles ordered them both a hot supper and asked after rooms for the night. When Sam came to join him at a small corner table, Charles informed him that, due to the weather driving everyone indoors, there was only one room in the whole place.

“Well did you reserve it?”

“Of course, Chev, what do you take me for?” Charles looked a little hurt, but Sam could not entirely keep the frustration from his features.

“We’ll have to wait until morning, maybe even afternoon, to procure assistance with the carriage. Apparently in summer it is very hard to find help in these rural areas.”

“The farmers cannot be blamed for the demands of their profession.”

Just then their suppers arrived, along with a bottle of brandy, which went a long way towards assuaging Sam’s annoyance. They stayed in the common room for a long time, enjoying the warmth of the fire nearby, the pleasant buzz of conversation, and the ready supply of spirits. Not until Sam made ready to fight someone over a passing remark on “those damned abolitionists” did Charles see fit to drag them both upstairs in search of their room. Sam had had far more to drink than Charles, and it showed in the way he lurched on the stairs, hugging the wall and Charles in turn for support. They fumbled with the key for several minutes, but when they finally got the door open, Sam collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed. Thankfully their clothes had mostly dried during the hours they had sat by the fire, but they were still so splattered with mud and muck that Charles could not abide sleeping in them. He chased Sam off the bed, insisting that they not soil the sheets entirely. Grumbling about the cold—there was no fire in the room—Sam stripped off his outer layers. When he was down to his undershirt and drawers, he began looking around for a chamber pot and Charles, red with embarrassment, began wishing he hadn’t said anything. He had seldom felt so self-conscious as when he began slowly peeling off his own jacket, cravat, and, worst of all, breeches. Sam had once again collapsed on the bed, and though he wouldn’t turn to look just yet, Charles had the strangest feeling, as though Sam was watching him intently. When the offending garments were folded into a neat pile on the floor, Charles slid into the bed.

“Funny, isn’t it,” Sam asked, more loudly than necessary, “all those times we slept together there was always a door between us.” Charles blushed deeply but wasn’t sure how to respond to his friend’s drunken musing.

“There shouldn’t be. No more doors, Charlie, no more doors.” With this, Sam turned onto his side, facing Charles. Feeling it would be rude to roll and face the other way, but not feeling quite comfortable turning to face Sam, Charles remained on his back, gazing blankly at the ceiling. Sam was quiet for a long time; long enough for Charlie’s nervousness to fade. He was just beginning to slip into sleep when he felt Sam’s hand pressing lightly on his chest. The touch was so gentle Charles almost thought he was dreaming it, but it was soon followed by Sam wriggling closer and pressing his entire body against Charles. There was something oddly electric about the pressure of Sam’s leg against his own, and the feeling of Sam’s warm breath on his neck filled him with such bizarre sensations he was almost afraid. How could anyone gain this much power over him simply by shifting a few inches? The hand on his chest began roaming and Charlie’s stomach clenched. He liked this feeling, this odd, overwhelmed feeling.

“No!” he gasped suddenly, fumbling to get away from Sam. He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he worried that if he let it go on any longer, they would both come to regret it.

“Charles?” Sam blinked, confused. “I’m cold.” He said it simply, as though it explained everything. And maybe it did. Maybe Sam was only pressed closer to share warmth, maybe the sinful desire that had overwhelmed Charles hadn’t even occurred to Sam.

“I’m so cold,” he said again, sleepily. His intoxicated slur was impossible to resist; Charles slid back into the bed, facing him this time, and allowed Sam to hug him tightly, praying that he did not give himself away. He gathered every shred of self-control he could muster, but felt it slipping away just as quickly as Sam’s hand continued roaming, exploring his back and sending tantalizing shivers through his spine.

“Sam,” he whispered into his friend’s hair. He had intended for it to be firm, commanding, an order to stop this nonsense, but it came out almost a moan. He hadn’t been aware of just how close Sam’s face was to his chest until he realized he could _feel_ Sam’s smile against his collarbone. He felt the smile widen, open, and gasped as he felt Sam’s teeth brushing over the tender skin on his neck. Then the strangest thing happened—Sam began alternately biting his throat, and kissing it gently.

“Sam,” Charles couldn’t disguise the moan this time. Sam’s little nips became more insistent as he worked his way up towards Charlie’s jawline, eliciting short, wordless moans each time his lips touched that sweet, soft skin.

“Stop,” Charles panted, momentarily gaining control of himself. He tried to push Sam away, but even this drunk Sam was too strong to be handled so lightly. “Stop.”

“Why?” A mischievous light danced in Sam’s eyes and it was all Charles could do not to surrender to him immediately.

“This is…wrong. Illegal. We shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t be happy?”

“You’re drunk Sam. You wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t.”

“Au contraire, mon amour, I would do this even better if I were sober.”

“Sam, it’s sinful.”

“God doesn’t hate people for being in love, Charlie, how could He frown on love?”

“Sam this is serious.”

“So am I,” he said fiercely, “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t care for me, propriety be damned, tell me you don’t want this?”

Charles held his gaze for only a moment before trying to look away.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too, and I’ll stop. But don’t lie to me, Charlie, don’t you dare lie to me.”

And he couldn’t. He met Sam’s eyes again and was once more overwhelmed by the emotion he saw there, drunk or not, it was so reassuring. Sensing his victory, Sam wrapped his hand around Charlie’s neck and pulled him closer. He held him there, millimeters away, for several tantalizing moments, before Charles grew impatient and pushed closer for the kiss. Sam grinned broadly as he slid his hand down again to continue its exploration of his back. Sam’s hand slid lower still, and as he began toying with Charlie’s waistband, there was no mistaking his intention. _God forgive me_ , he thought to himself as he surrendered self-control entirely and let Sam lead in this interesting new adventure.


	2. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a hangover and can't remember what happened last night.

The pounding in his head woke him. Sam hoped that if he lay still long enough, it would subside. Eyes closed against the morning light, he began taking stock of his surroundings. The bed was too lumpy to be his own. How had that happened? He had a vague image of the carriage—the rain—the inn. Ah. He was still somewhere in the countryside. The next step in his personal inventory was mentally feeling for new bruises—a necessary step every time he woke with so few memories of the night before. He was surprised to find that nothing hurt. Nothing but his head, and that would pass soon enough. Then he had a revelation even more shocking—it was not so surprising to wake up stark naked, that happened often enough, but to find his own long limbs entangled with someone else’s.

He squeezed his closed eyes more tightly shut, not wanting to see which local wench he had seduced this time. The legs were _very_ long; he had always liked tall women. They were also thicker than he was accustomed to, muscular—a working woman? But then he registered the upper body, registered the thick chest hair, and felt his heart begin to race. _No. No no no no no._ A hand on his shoulder shifted and there was no mistaking the fingers that began tracing small circles on his back. He opened his eyes slowly, afraid of what might ensue. Charles was staring at him, smiling softly, naked as far as Sam could see. He saw a line of small bruises along Charlie’s neck and flushed as he recognized his own handiwork.

“Charles?”

“Mmmm?”

“What happened last night?”

“You…you don’t remember? You never meant to—” Panic flooded Charles’ eyes and he immediately began disentangling himself from Sam. Before he managed to get out of the bed, Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back down.

“There are a thousand hammers pounding inside my head right now, Charles, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be. Just tell me what happened.”

“Nothing, Chev, nothing happened. It was just—”

“Charles,” Sam warned, “don’t.” He surveyed the fear in his dear friend’s face and began to understand why he was so reluctant to discuss it. He added gently, “Whatever we did, there is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“It shouldn’t have happened, Chev. We were drunk, please, let’s just forget about it. Please.”

“No.”

“Sam, do you realize—”

“Of course I know, Charlie, of course I do.” He continued watching Charles’ face, hoping for clarity, but Charles simply ducked his head, effectively hiding his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation any more than Charles did, but how could they avoid it? He had dreamed of waking up in his darling alter ego’s arms for so long, he was really only surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. And he knew, however much he had pretended not to, he knew that Charles felt the same for him. “Charles,” he tried again, softly. When he still did not look up, Sam put a finger beneath his chin and forced Charles to meet his eyes. “No one will know.”

“Thank you.” It was barely a whisper.

“But that does not mean it should not happen again.”

“Sam!” Charles jerked away. The shout set his brain pounding again and he clutched his head between his hands.

“Please, Charles, don’t yell.”

“How can you even suggest that we…”

“Charles, relax. You are acting absurd.”

“Absurd? Absurd?! How can you—”

“Damn it Charles stop yelling!” He winced again, his own volume even less tolerable than Charles’ panicked shouts. But it worked; when Charles spoke again, it was in a low, tightly controlled whisper.

“How can you act as though we have done nothing wrong?”

“Because we haven’t,” Sam said simply. Then, realizing he still did not know what they _had_ done, he added, “Though if you want to convince me otherwise perhaps you could tell me what transpired last night.”

“We…you…” Charles was blushing deeply and seemed physically unable to describe what had happened.

“Come, dear, I’ve never known you to be speechless before?”

“Stop it,” Charles snapped. “You kissed me.”

“And did you reciprocate?” Sam watched with amusement as the blush on his cheeks deepened. Charles nodded and Sam felt a wave of relief wash over him. However much Charles regretted it now, at least his advances had been welcome at the time.

“And did we…do anything else?”

“No.”

“No?”

“You wanted to…we started…but I…”

“You don’t want me then?” Sam couldn’t keep the disappointment from his voice. Perhaps Charles had been just drunk enough to accept the kissing, but no amount of alcohol would make anything more than that acceptable. He wondered if he should apologize, beg forgiveness for taking advantage—he had really believed Charles felt the same. Realizing how deeply he had misunderstood his friend’s affection, he began to be mortified at the situation. Not just at what had—or hadn’t—happened the night before, but of the way he was still stretched naked across the bed, knees brushing Charlie’s legs. He turned away and for the first time scanned the room to find his clothes. As he began dressing, Charles sighed.

“I cannot lie to you, Sam. I _did_ enjoy what was happening.” Sam spun around to face him again, but Charles still would not meet his eye. “I enjoyed waking up beside you. I enjoy every moment in your company, every word from your pen.” Sam flopped back down on the bed, relieved and rejuvenated, and cupped Charlie’s cheek in his hand.

“But it cannot go on.”

“But it can, it _can_ ,” Sam insisted. Charles wrapped his fingers around Sam’s wrist and pulled his hand away from his face.

“No.”

“But why? Why not?”

“Our careers, our families—if anyone found out about our shame, _anyone_ —“

“Listen to me—we will be careful, no one will ever hear of it.” Charles opened his mouth to argue, but Sam wasn’t finished yet. “And why do you call it ‘our shame’? Have we hurt anyone? Has our love caused anyone to suffer? What is so shameful about such an innocent joy? Nothing. God does not abandon his children for falling in love, Charlie. There is nothing to fear on that front.”

“I wish I had your faith in matters,” he muttered without looking convinced.

“At least have faith in me.” He hadn’t meant to beg, but the pleading in his voice was unmistakable. Charles met his eyes, the fear softening at last. He did not speak, but tentatively reached out to stroke Sam’s hair. Sam smiled at this small victory, and Charles smiled back. He wanted to wrap his arms tightly around that beloved frame, to kiss every inch of that body, but he was afraid of overwhelming Charles, of driving him away with too much at once. He settled for pressing one hand against the back of his neck and twinning a strand of that glorious dark hair around his finger. It was not enough, but it would have to do.


End file.
